Of Pride and Revenge
by Linndechir
Summary: When Dantrag Baenre is slain by Drizzt Do'Urden, Gromph is unable to accept his brother's death. But he realises soon that resurrecting the Weapon Master is not the main problem: Dantrag's pride has been hurt, and only revenge will heal this wound.
1. Prologue

Disclaimer: Neither the characters nor the places in this story belong to me; and I don´t make any money with this. Slash, but this isn´t really a romance. Maybe I should mention that the Prologue takes place several decades before the story itself.

A/N: Thanks to Chi for beta-reading this. :)

* * *

**Prologue**

There were few who could enter the quarters of the Archmage of Menzoberranzan without his direct permission - and even those who could would think twice before actually doing it. Only one person was bold enough to come and go at will, knowing that he generally was welcome. Thus Gromph knew immediately who paid him a visit at this late hour when he heard a soft knock on the heavy door of his office.

The old drow grinned - it had taken him some time to teach his lover to knock at least before entering his study, if he didn´t want to run into some dangerous experiment.

"Come in," he called and slowly looked up from the spell book on his desk.

His younger brother Dantrag stood in the door frame, his usually amber eyes red with anger, his bottom lip trembling. Gromph couldn't help but think of a volcano, one of these strange surface mountains that spat fire, just before the eruption. The fighter's perfectly honed body seemed barely able to retain his rage.

Gromph studied him curiously, but with a concerned look on his face, while he rose from his plush chair. Dantrag was probably the only person the grim Archmage liked - which was why he had shown him a secret entry to his quarters. Drow brothers usually did not trust each other - the rivalry was simply too great. But there had never been such a rivalry between Gromph and Dantrag Baenre: as fighter and mage had they never competed for the same positions, and as Gromph had always spent most of his time at Sorcere, Dantrag was, even though only the secondboy, virtually the highest ranking male living on the Great Mound. In addition, Gromph was several centuries older than Dantrag and had already been a powerful mage by the time his younger brother just learned how to hold a sword. The fighter was not stupid or arrogant enough to go against Gromph. This complete lack of rivalry - rare in a race as ambitious as the drow - had allowed the brothers to get closer than usual, to trust, even love each other.

"What is it?" Gromph asked. He knew his brother well enough to recognise that this was not one of Dantrag´s almost daily outbursts for some bagatelle, but something serious.

"Zaknafein Do´Urden." The fighter spat the name more than he said it. He began to pace through the study - something he would normally never do, knowing how dangerous a wizard´s rooms could be for anyone but the wizard himself, but his agitation made him forget all caution.

The Archmage vaguely remembered the name of Zaknafein, patron of House Do´Urden - Tenth House of Menzoberranzan - and a master of Melee-Magthere, even though it was rumoured that he would soon give up this position to concentrate on his duties at House Do´Urden. He was counted among Menzoberranzan´s finest warriors, but Dantrag had never shown any interest in him.

"He just returned from the Underdark with his patrol when I came here. They had met an unusually big group of hook-horrors, too many for one patrol to fight. But Zaknafein killed half a dozen of the beasts single-handedly, and now some fools call him the greatest Weapon Master! 'The one who could best Dantrag Baenre!' " the fighter exclaimed, his deep voice trembling with anger and indignation. Gromph leaned against his dwarven-bone desk and just listened.

"Best me? Who does he think he is? This upstart isn´t even a noble, only a commoner, a pretty whore who pleased Matron Do´Urden so that she allowed him to bear her name! And they expect him to beat me, Weapon Master of House Baenre?! I should kill every fool who dares to insult me so!" Dantrag snorted and stopped his pacing, staring at his brother as if he expected an answer to his tirade.

"Half a dozen hook-horrors? You have to admit that it is impressive..." Gromph interjected.

"It is nothing I have not achieved before - and more than once! He is nothing!" the fighter replied.

"Then kill him. It will silence those who doubt your superiority."

"To attack him now would make me look weak, frightened, like a shivering rothé that has been cornered and lashes out in fear. Let him come to me - if he is indeed the best, he´ll claim this title and challenge me. And I will gladly accept, to show this upstart where he belongs! But I can´t bear to hear this insolent nonsense," Dantrag said, his voice not as loud as before. He knew he had to wait, and despite their chaotic nature, the long-living drow were rather good at waiting.

Gromph nodded - Dantrag was right. The Weapon Master and secondboy of the First House was Menzoberranzan´s finest warrior and among the most powerful males of the city - a man in his position and with his reputation would not simply attack an upcoming rival, it was undignified. He might arrange the Do´Urden´s assassination, but that would not silence those who thought Zaknafein the better fighter.

The Archmage took another minute to contemplate his still fuming brother. His eyes roamed over the tall, strong and yet amazingly nimble body, hidden by the dark chain mail - but Gromph knew every muscle under the black skin. He looked at the long swords on Dantrag´s hips - a slender drow blade and the sentient sword from the surface, Khazid´hea -, and knowing how easily and expertly the Weapon Master wielded them, Gromph was unable to believe that any fighter might even come close to defeating Dantrag.

"Distract me," the Weapon Master ordered suddenly, and his commanding voice made Gromph chuckle, but he was more than ready to comply. He stepped closer to his brother and kissed him eagerly, smiling at the familiar taste. Dantrag wrapped his muscular arms around the lithe body, so hard that Gromph gasped for breath. He knew that the Weapon Master would be rather violent tonight, for Dantrag was always violent when he was angry. But it hardly unsettled Gromph - he had enjoyed every single night spent with Dantrag; and he was himself sometimes very rude. Yet they were comfortable around each other, despite - or maybe even due to - their respective violent tempers.

Thus, Gromph accepted Dantrag´s rough kisses willingly. He quickly removed his robes and boots, enjoying the feeling of the cold chain mail against his bare chest. The Archmage did not see his brother´s hands moving - their speed heightened by his magical bracers -, he just felt that his feet left the ground when Dantrag lifted him and carried him to the bedroom. Gromph relaxed on the soft sheets and looked up to the Weapon Master, who sank onto the bed beside him. Dantrag had decided to enjoy at least the end of this miserable day - and what better way to end it than in Gromph´s arms? He would take care of Zaknafein later ...

* * *

But Dantrag hoped in vain that Zaknafein´s pride would lead them together one day, or that their paths would cross coincidentally. For years he desired to fight Zaknafein, and the rivalry between the two Weapon Masters was no secret in Menzoberranzan, but Matron Baenre had made it clear that she would not allow him to seek out the upstart. Dantrag believed - or wanted to believe - that Zaknafein did not come to him out of fear.

Zaknafein´s son, Drizzt Do´Urden, born years after the beginning of the Weapon Masters´ rivalry, made things even worse. From his first year at the Academy on, he was rumoured to be the greatest talent Menzoberranzan had seen in centuries. Whether this was true or not, Drizzt was clearly better than Berg´inyon, the youngest Baenre son who entered Melee-Magthere at the same time as Drizzt. Drizzt, trained by Zaknafein, bested Berg´inyon, trained by Dantrag.

Dantrag´s mood worsened even more - something the Baenre soldiers under his command noticed in a rather painful way - his arrogance became nearly unbearable, and the only moments he thoroughly enjoyed were those spent with Gromph.

The Baenre lost even the possibility to fight Zaknafein in the year Drizzt graduated from the Academy. The Weapon Master died, and not by Dantrag´s hands, but by Matron Do´Urden´s. She sacrificed him to Lolth, and Drizzt - at this time a patrol leader - fled from Menzoberranzan. Many rumours existed about the events at House Do´Urden, about Drizzt who had forsaken his people and cursed the Spider Queen, about Zaknafein who had given his life to save Drizzt.

Dantrag did not care _why_ Zaknafein had been killed or _why_ Drizzt had left. But it was a fact that Zaknafein was dead, and even though some voices still uttered doubt about who would have won had Dantrag and Zaknafein ever met each other in battle, Dantrag was again Menzoberranzan´s finest _living_ Weapon Master.

But the one who doubted most was Dantrag himself. He had wanted to prove that he was the better, he had wanted to look into Zaknafein´s dying eyes, to spit in his face. Or in Drizzt´s, because House Do´Urden's failure in killing the renegade showed how formidable the young fighter had become. Killing Drizzt would be just as good as killing Zaknafein. But again, there was no opportunity to kill someone who had disappeared into the Underdark, maybe even left it.

Dantrag slowly accepted that there would be no way to prove his superiority over House Do´Urden´s fighters. Even more as House Do´Urden was soon extinguished, and with it, the memory of Zaknafein began to vanish.

But years later, Drizzt Do´Urden returned to Menzoberranzan, and when Bregan D´aerthe captured him and delivered him to Matron Baenre, Dantrag got the permission to fight the renegade before he was to be sacrificed.

And he got his fight, even if under different circumstances than planned, in the lightless corridors of the Underdark, during Drizzt´s attempt to escape from Menzoberranzan.


	2. Chapter One

**Chapter One**

Chaos. There was no other word to describe the situation at House Baenre after the stalagtite had crashed down on the chapel. Half of House Baenre´s forces, fighters and wizards alike, were chasing Drizzt Do´Urden and the two humans who had come to rescue him.

Gromph was not really worried about all of it. He did not doubt that the renegade would be captured again, and he did not mind the destruction of the chapel - he actually enjoyed every humiliation inflicted upon the priestesses and their vicious goddess. He knew that Dantrag and Berg´inyon were somewhere in the Underdark, searching for Drizzt for other purposes than delivering him to Matron Baenre. He knew that Dantrag would finally get his fight, and Gromph hoped that his lover would become calmer once this chapter was finally closed.

Gromph grinned slightly when he looked again to the great chapel, where his sisters shouted orders in disbelief and outrage. He stood on the great courtyard of House Baenre, with countless soldiers rushing around him. He enjoyed the spectacle. He enjoyed chaos.

His delight was short-lived. Not because it became clear that Drizzt Do´Urden had indeed escaped, but because Gromph saw Berg´inyon returning on his lizard soon after the pursuit had be abandoned. Alone.

They did not speak to each other, but Berg´inyon looked his eldest brother in the eyes as he passed by, his face a mask of triumph and self-satisfaction - the face of a drow who knew that he would soon be Weapon Master of House Baenre. Gromph had not survived for seven centuries by showing his emotions, but as soon as Berg´inyon was out of sight, Gromph hastened to the Academy, ignoring the many questions he was asked on his way about what had happened at House Baenre. He had lost any interest in the beautiful mayhem that had come over Menzoberranzan´s First House.

As soon as he entered his study at Sorcere, he used a scrying spell to search for Dantrag, and it did not take him much time to find him.

Gromph nearly cried out in denial when he saw Dantrag´s lifeless body in the small orb, left by those drow who had come through the corridor after him, chasing Drizzt. Despite his usually perfect concentration, it took Gromph several minutes to calm down enough to cast another spell, one that would teleport him to the corpse.

He found the small cavern empty except for Dantrag´s body. The floor was soiled with several blood spots, many crossbow bolts lay on the ground, and in an adjoining corridor he spotted Dantrag´s lizard - probably killed by Drizzt Do´Urden´s panther companion. Gromph crouched beside his brother, and as there was no doubt left that Dantrag was not only wounded, but really dead, the Archmage - as vicious and heartless as only a drow could be - felt, for the first time in his long life, the unbearable pain of loss. He knew that he had to do something, to keep his hands and his mind moving, to escape these strange feelings of sorrow and ... fear.

He forced himself to examine Dantrag´s body closer: his left hand still held his drow sword, but Khazid´hea was gone, as well as the magical bracers. His handsome face was bruised, and the chain mail was torn at the belly, where a scimitar had cut deep into his flesh. But it was not this wound that had killed Dantrag - his heart had been pierced, and Gromph winced at the sight of the torn, blood-soaked armour, the chain links that had been pressed into the flesh. The Archmage was glad that Dantrag´s eyes were closed - he doubted that he could bear to look into them.

Without any clear idea about how to proceed, he began to cast again. The magic absorbed his pain for some seconds, but as soon as the teleport spell had brought him and the corpse to his quarters at the Academy, Gromph felt again this unknown despair. But he did not allow himself to sit down and think about it, and so he began to remove Dantrag´s torn armour and his weapon belt. He washed the blood from the black skin to look closer at the wounds and was glad that the body was not too badly disfigured.

It would not be impossible to resurrect Dantrag, not for a powerful cleric. But Gromph was no cleric, and he doubted that Lolth would grant any priestess the life of a mere male.

Again Gromph felt panic rising within him, and he nearly broke down where he stood. Black dots danced before his eyes, and he felt just like after one of the many assassination attempts on him, when he had been poisoned. But self-discipline had kept him alive for centuries, so he fought his sickness down. He left the room and went to his study, where he sat down behind the enormous dwarven bone desk, trying to think about a way to get his brother back to life, but even his concentration was not strong enough to fully ignore this pain - Dantrag was dead, and Gromph _needed_ help to resurrect him. There was nothing the Archmage of Menzoberranzan hated more than depending on others.

He tried to imagine the fight between Drizzt and Dantrag - for there was no doubt about who had killed the Baenre Weapon Master. The dazzling play of swords and scimitars, the dance of two perfect bodies, an unheard-of display of strength, agility, speed. Yes, speed - How was it possible that Drizzt had parried Dantrag´s lightning-fast attacks? Gromph imagined a scimitar plunging deep into Dantrag´s chest, he saw the pain and disbelief in his brother´s eyes.

Where had Berg´inyon been? Gromph was sure that his brothers had been together when they had encountered Drizzt, and that Berg´inyon had known of Dantrag´s death before anyone else. It did not take the Archmage much time to figure it out - Berg´inyon had, of course, abandoned Dantrag at some point of the fight. They were drow, and the young fighter had done the right thing, knowing that he could never defeat Dantrag himself. It was perfectly logical - but Gromph felt the urge to seek out Berg´inyon right now and kill him in the most painful way he could imagine.

But other memories distracted his attention from these plans - the countless nights he and Dantrag had spent together, so close, so trustful, sometimes even tender. Gromph closed his eyes and thought of Dantrag´s lips and hands on his body, of his voice - so unusually deep for a drow - whispering his name, whispering affectionate words most drow would never speak or hear in their life. He remembered Dantrag´s violent temper, his outbursts whenever something displeased him, his obsession with Zaknafein, his cruelty with his students as well as with his other lovers. He saw his brother´s swordplay, as perfect and beautiful as anything Gromph had ever seen. Like most mages, he had thought fighting to be a lesser art than magic, but each time he had seen Dantrag wielding his swords as effortlessly as if they were parts of his body, he had nearly changed his mind.

Gromph had never thought it possible that someone could actually defeat Dantrag - even less with his bracers. He had always assumed that a fight against Zaknafein or Drizzt would be the most difficult fight in Dantrag´s life, but the Baenre brothers had been confident that Dantrag would win.

But he had not. Gromph shook his head in disbelief. He tried desperately to find more memories of his brother, as if they could bring him back to life. Hearing Dantrag´s voice in his mind, Gromph fell asleep on his desk many hours later.

* * *

The next days nearly drove him mad. Gromph had to spend most of his time at House Baenre, for his mother required his presence at numerous meetings about how to proceed after this failure and humiliation.

The Archmage did not care about it at all - even after this defeat, House Baenre´s position at the top of Menzoberranzan´s hierarchy was unchallenged, and that was, at the moment, enough for Gromph. But Matron Baenre did not allow him often to return to Sorcere, and he had not much time left to think about Dantrag. Only a few days after Drizzt Do´Urden´s escape, Berg´inyon was appointed Weapon Master of House Baenre. Everyone knew that he was not nearly half as good as his brother had been, but nobody bothered even to ask about the whereabouts of Dantrag´s body. If he was dead, he had deserved to die.

Two weeks passed before Gromph had once again enough time to consider what to do with his dead brother. He sat on a chair beside the long bench on which he had laid the corpse. He had cast a spell that would preserve the body for some time - and Dantrag still looked as if he had died only hours ago.

Gromph had briefly considered asking Matron Baenre to raise her second son from the dead - after all, Dantrag had been a great fighter and of no small value to House Baenre. But the Archmage already knew her answer - if Dantrag had died, it had been Lolth´s will, and no high priestess would waste such a powerful spell on a male who had failed. The callous drow did only resurrect someone if he - or better: she - was absolutely indispensable. No male was indispensable. And even if he was - as Matron Baenre knew that Gromph and Dantrag had been close, she would probably have refused simply out of cruelty.

Menzoberranzan was the holy city of Lolth, and no other cult was tolerated in the city of spiders. But Gromph knew that there were other drow deities, even though he had rarely met one of their followers. He searched for a book about the Dark Seldarine, the drow pantheon, in his enormous book shelves, and as he knew them nearly as well as his own pockets, he found soon what he had sought: information about Selvetarm, also known as Lolth´s Champion, the demigod of unequaled battle prowess. His clerics enjoyed destruction and chaos, but they hated Lolthian priestesses as much as they admired and respected great warriors. If there was any drow god who would maybe grant Dantrag his life, it was Selvetarm.

After he had searched for the components of a long-distance teleport spell that would take him to Eryndlyn, one of the few cities where Selvetarm was worshipped, Gromph went to bed - and for the first time in two weeks, his reverie was truly reposing.


	3. Chapter Two

**Chapter Two**

Tarlyn Zaere looked more like a fighter than a cleric: a fine chain mail was clearly visible under his long, scarlet robes; he wore a long sword on his left hip and a one-handed axe strapped over his back. The tall and muscular male would have been an odd sight in any other place than this city, where followers of Selvetarm were at least tolerated. The tips of his long white braids were soaked in blood, a long scar marred his formerly attractive features, his red eyes showed a violent, fierce temper. His god´s holy symbol was embroidered on his cloak: a crossed sword and mace overlaid with a large black spider.

When he entered the temple after his daily weapon exercise, a novice rushed to him and whispered in a somehow frightened voice, "You have a visitor waiting in your rooms, high priest."

Tarlyn scowled and furrowed his brow. "And you just invited this visitor to enter my rooms?"

"I could hardly refuse, high priest," the novice said, and he did not get an answer this time. Tarlyn was curious about this mysterious guest who could obviously frighten a normally fearless worshipper of Selvetarm. Every muscle in his strong body was tense and he had a spell ready on his lips when he opened the doors to his private quarters and stepped in. He was not overly concerned - not in a temple of his own god -, but caution was always necessary when dealing with other drow.

Tarlyn had not known what to expect, but he was more than surprised at the sight of the drow wizard who sat comfortably on a chair, looking calmly at the entering priest. The mage seemed to be young, but his eyes showed wisdom and power beyond the youth of his features. His robes were rich and elegant, and Tarlyn did not even need a spell to feel the magic of his entire gear. One item struck the priest profoundly: an amulet with a green gem, unique in form and colour. A stone of eternal youth, and the trademark item of the probably most powerful station a drow male could hold.

"The Archmage of Menzoberranzan," Tarlyn stated. Gromph nodded silently without introducing himself further - his station was all that mattered, not his name.

Tarlyn shook his head in disbelief and sat down on another chair, coldly staring at the mage.

"To what do I owe this honour?" he asked in an even voice, not meaning his words, but neither with direct sarcasm. The high priest did not know this wizard, but as Menzoberranzan´s mages were known for their impressive power, their Archmage could probably kill him easily.

"I need a priest," Gromph explained curtly, and his words confused Tarlyn even more.

"I do not understand ... The Menzoberranyr priestesses of Lolth are the most powerful drow clerics, why would you ...?"

"I said I needed a priest, not a priestess," Gromph cut him short. "Menzoberranzan´s greatest Weapon Master is dead, killed by a traitorous renegade. No Lolthian priestess will resurrect a male."

Tarlyn wondered why the Archmage cared for the life of a mere fighter, but he was too intelligent to ask for a justification from someone as powerful as the Archmage. "To die in battle is a worthy end - the only worthy end - for a fighter. I doubt that Selvetarm will grant me his life," he explained.

"I have chosen your clergy on purpose - I know that you welcome death in a battle against overwhelming forces, not in a duel that just ... went wrong. This Weapon Master was nearly unequaled with his blades, the incarnation of fighting prowess."

"You ask for much, Archmage", Tarlyn started, but Gromph interrupted him again, "You will accompany me to Menzoberranzan, high priest, and you will do everything that is in your power to resurrect him."

Tarlyn felt shivers down his spine - he understood the Archmage´s hard voice and threatening stare well enough: either Selvatarm would grant him this drow´s life, or his own would end soon enough.

"Do you have his body?" he asked finally, realising that any resistance would be fatal. Gromph did not bother to answer, but rose immediately and began to chant. Tarlyn sighed helplessly as the teleportation spell took them both to Sorcere.

Many rumours existed about Menzoberranzan, her high priestesses and wizards, and Tarlyn looked around curiously as soon as he appeared in the Archmage´s quarters. But the room in which they stood was simple and unadorned, and the most striking sight in it was a slender body on a small bed. Tarlyn went over to it and examined the dead fighter - and he could not deny his fascination for this finely honed body. He saw the only beauty Selvetarm´s followers knew, the beauty of a perfect warrior.

Yet he felt Gromph´s hard stare and asked quickly for the fighter´s name. He believed that the mage´s voice trembled when he answered, "Dantrag Baenre, former Weapon Master of the First House of Menzoberranzan."

Gromph left the room and closed the door behind him - he knew that clerics spent hours, sometimes days in prayer to resurrect someone. He did not find any reverie this night, but paced restlessly through his quarters, often stopping at the door, listening, but he heard nothing except for Tarlyn´s deep voice muttering prayers - he waited in vain for the sound of a second drow´s breathing. Even though it pained him to leave his quarters, he went hastily to Narbondel in the morning to execute his daily duty, and returned just as hastily to Sorcere, where he found the door of Dantrag´s small room still closed.

But he did not have to wait long: Tarlyn left the room soon after Gromph´s return from Narbondel, his scarred face showing exhaustion, but also confidence and elation.

"It will take several days or weeks until his wounds will be fully healed, but Selvetarm gave him his life, out of respect for his skill," Tarlyn said, obviously relieved. He did not even want to imagine what Gromph would have done to him if he had failed. The cleric had not been frightened - fear was unknown to the followers of the Spider Demon - but his clergy´s position in Eryndlyn was shaky, and they could not afford the death of one of their most powerful priests. Which was probably the reason Selvetarm had saved him instead of abandoning him.

The Archmage managed to hide his joy and just handed Tarlyn a platinum ring. The cleric took it and cast a quick identification spell, before he nodded. Gromph had not been stingy - but considering Dantrag´s prowess and looks, Tarlyn could understand the Archmage´s interest in him.

As soon as Tarlyn had left, teleporting back to Eryndlyn, Gromph hastened to Dantrag´s bed and sat down beside him. The wound on his chest was healed, another dark-grey scar marked his black skin where it had been torn by the scimitar. The slash on his belly was still visible and would indeed take time to heal completely. Dantrag´s breath was weak, but steady, and his unconsciousness was not feverish, but tranquil. Gromph let his eyes shift into infravision, to see the warmth that emanated once again from Dantrag´s body. The Archmage, who hadn´t let himself cry when his brother had died, felt a single, hot tear streaming down his cheek.

* * *

Dantrag opened his eyes and blinked, slowly adjusting to the dim, bluish light. He tried to identify the strange smell, a mixture of many odours the drow could not discern, some of them coming from the surface or far regions of the Underdark. Yet he knew this mix, and he knew this light - Gromph´s quarters at Sorcere. Dantrag was confused - he tried to remember how he had come here.

His last clear memory was the fight in the cavern where he and Berg´inyon had waited for Drizzt Do´Urden. He heard Cutter´s voice in his head, prodding him, whispering promises of glory and victory. He saw fierce lavender eyes, whirling scimitars - one of them glowing blue -, wielded by a drow who had used Dantrag´s enhanced speed against him - knowing that the Weapon Master could hardly alter a movement once begun.

Dantrag tried to sit up, but the pain in his belly reminded him of Drizzt´s first serious hit, and he sank back. He remembered the moment of shock and disbelief when he had realised that the renegade had overcome his defences, the humiliating words that Zaknafein - curse his name! - would have bested him, and then the glowing scimitar pushing through his chain mail, through his heart.

Dantrag knew that he should be dead, that he had to be dead. What had happened after this lethal hit? There had been blackness, he knew, and something more, but what? It was as if a piece of his memory was missing, removed from his mind. A voice pushing through the darkness was the next thing he could remember, an unknown, deep voice, a drow male´s, his accent slightly different from the one spoken in Menzoberranzan.

Dantrag turned his head but he was alone - Gromph was not here, and neither was this other drow, whoever he might be. The Weapon Master felt weak and his head hurt, and even though he wanted nothing more but to get up and find answers, to restore these missing memories, he fell asleep almost immediately.


	4. Chapter Three

**Chapter Three**

Dantrag had no idea how much time had passed until he woke up again. He was still in this small room, lying on a simple, but comfortable bed. Yet he was not alone anymore - Gromph sat at his side, calm and tired, but with an unbelievable smile on his usually so glum face when Dantrag opened his eyes. The fighter needed again a few moments to adjust to the light - he had spent so much time in Gromph´s quarters during his long life, but he had never been so accustomed to the dim light as his brother. The wound on his belly still hurt, but far less than last time.

He felt Gromph´s nimble fingers stroking his cheek and through his white, long hair, while his brother whispered his name. Dantrag muttered in a rough, cracking voice, "What happened? I should be dead ... His blade went right through my heart ..." He touched the fresh scar on his chest at the place of his heart, and as Gromph did not answer immediately, Dantrag said, "He defeated me."

The reality of his failure became only in this moment clear to him - he had been so preoccupied with wondering why he was alive that he had almost forgotten why he had, in the first place, died. He, Dantrag Baenre, had been defeated.

Gromph winced at the pain in Dantrag´s eyes, but he could not deny this simple fact.

"I found a priest to resurrect you - a cleric of Selvetarm, god of unequaled battle prowess," he explained quickly, hoping that he might cheer him up a bit. He doubted that Dantrag knew much about Selvetarm, who was not at all worshipped in Menzoberranzan, but the fighter probably knew the name.

"Unequaled battle prowess? I have been defeated, Gromph! This damned Do´Urden turned even my strength into weakness! I lost one battle, and I died, and rightly so!" Dantrag replied in a trembling voice. No, he could not remember death, but he was sure that this pain had not been there in the darkness ... Slowly, his confusion turned into anger, despair, even helplessness. Until now, Dantrag had used the word "defeat" only when speaking about others.

The Archmage had no answer - he had not foreseen these difficulties. Of course, he understood his brother well enough to know of his pride, of his pain when being defeated, but he had not expected such a violent reaction to his regained life. Gromph had never been so off-balance, so helpless, so disoriented as in the last weeks, and for a split second, he silently cursed his brother for his pride, his quick temper, his stubbornness. But he reminded himself that he had always loved him for these traits as well.

It took Dantrag some time to get up, to put his stiff muscles to work and ignore the pain in his sore body. He left the room slowly, his stride lacking his usual strength and grace. As he leaned against the wall and looked out of the window and over the large compound of the Academy, he heard the rustling of his brother´s robes when Gromph followed him and stopped at his side.

"Much has happened," the Archmage said and laid his hand on Dantrag´s bare shoulder.

"How long have I been ... gone?" asked the Weapon Master hesitantly. He moved each of his fingers, as if he wanted to assure himself that his body was functioning normally.

"You were dead for over two weeks, and you spent another fifteen cycles of Narbondel somewhere between unconsciousness and reverie. But Menzoberranzan has been busy in these weeks, and it has not done her good."

Dantrag leaned back against Gromph, sighing at the well-known, comforting feeling of the mage´s slender arms wrapped around him. "Tell me ..."

"Drizzt Do´Urden escaped," Gromph started, and he felt Dantrag tensing immediately in his arms. "Matron Baenre took him as a pretence to attack Mithral Hall. You knew of her plans and intrigues concerning these dwarves, and she managed indeed to lead all of Menzoberanzan against them. A bitter defeat - the dwarves were supported by the humans and faeries, and Baenre herself was slain by the dwarven king."

Dantrag winced and turned around, staring at Gromph in utter disbelief. He held no love for his vicious mother, but no drow had ever expected Baenre to die. She was the uncrowned queen of Menzoberranzan, her will was considered to be Lolth´s will, and even Gromph paled beside her power.

"Yes, she is dead. No one would have expected it, I know ... Triel is now Matron Mother of House Baenre. Quenthel died as well, but her death is kept secret. She has temporarily retired from her tasks to pursue her studies´. She was killed by Drizzt Do´Urden, but I suppose Triel has another reason to hide Quenthel´s death. Probably she does it on Lolth´s command, without knowing herself why." The Archmage´s voice was full of venom and satisfaction when he spoke about his most hated and fortunately dead sister.

"After your death, Berg´inyon was appointed Weapon Master of House Baenre," Gromph continued, reminding himself of his duty to inform his brother. "But he deserted quickly to Bregan D´aerthe - fearing that Triel might replace him too soon with a son of her own, and probably charmed by Jarlaxle as well. Our cousin Andzrel holds the position now."

Dantrag was too taken aback by this unbelievable news to answer, and even to curse his younger brother who had abandoned him in the fatal fight against Drizzt Do´Urden. So many things had happened in this short time, things every drow of Menzoberranzan would have believed impossible. It did not make Dantrag´s already complicated situation any easier.

"I will tell you more about it in time. But you are still weak and should rest."

Dantrag sighed heavily and backed off, eluding Gromph´s caressing fingers.

"Why did you get me back? I just got what I deserved," he said, and even though he saw the hurt in Gromph´s eyes - the Archmage rarely hid his feelings from him - he did not regret his words.

"Do you really think I would accept your death so easily, Dantrag? I supposed it was obvious how much you mean to me. I love and enjoy my art, I wallow in power, in chaos, but happiness did I only find with you," said Gromph in a halting voice. Despite their unusual closeness, they had never completely forgotten their heritage - it was still difficult for them to pronounce their feelings so explicitly. Drow lied more often than they said the truth - thus, words often seemed too false and ordinary for their complete trust.

"So you had this priest resurrect me to satisfy your own needs? I´m deeply moved," snorted Dantrag, and he felt the heat of rage in him - hate for Do´Urden and for himself, for his failure. Gromph closed his eyes and did barely look at his brother when he opened them again.

"Yes, I need you," he said silently, reluctant to show this weakness so openly. "But I expected you to be ... pleased to live again ..."

"Pleased?" Dantrag´s roar seemed as powerful as ever, and his ire washed the pain and weakness out of his body, at least for a short time. "How do you want me to live after this defeat, this humiliation? Shall I become some average, mediocre fighter, someone who loses? Baenres do not lose!"

Gromph stared at him, his eyes becoming cold and hard. He was definitely no one to be shouted at - even high priestesses did not dare to speak with him in such a tone, and he surely would not tolerate it from his younger brother.

"Matron Baenre herself lost. But unlike her, you will have a second chance. You are a male, you have suffered countless humiliations before -"

"By the hand of priestesses, yes!" Dantrag interrupted. "But my skills were my pride, my compensation, my life! No one came even close to defeating me, and there were no humiliations on the battle field for Dantrag. Drizzt Do´Urden took my only refuge, my way to find some peace with myself!"

These words were so typical for his overly proud brother that it nearly filled Gromph´s cold eyes with tears. How much had he missed Dantrag´s violent temper in those weeks without him, how much had he feared to lose him? But now that he had Dantrag´s life back, he had to fear for his brother´s sanity. The very thought that his efforts might have been in vain made Gromph´s voice tremble with anger.

"Then what do you want to do? Kill yourself and accept what Drizzt Do´Urden did to you? Or rise again to your former glory, and maybe higher? Is there any impulse as powerful as rage, hatred, injured pride? You turned your anger into strength and skill for centuries, just as I transformed mine into magical power!" Gromph wanted to say more, but he was once again cut short by another derisive snort.

"You know humiliation, Gromph, but not defeat. How should Gromph Baenre, Archmage of Menzoberranzan, unchallenged and invincible, understand the meaning of defeat?"

These words stung Gromph deeply - as different as the brothers were, they had never doubted their ability to understand each other. The mage just stared at Dantrag, so taken aback that neither pain nor anger made it to his face when Dantrag turned around and went back to the room Gromph had given to him, where he fell immediately on his bed, his body protesting against the physical pain.

Dantrag´s instincts, education and experience - to do everything to survive, to ignore pain and weakness - held him alive over the next days. His last wound healed quickly, thanks to some healing potions Gromph had provided. Dantrag stayed up longer each day, and even though he did not leave his brother´s quarters, he began to train his stiff muscles, putting them through some exercising, executing a few routine attacks against a nonexistent enemy.

He saw his brother rarely: the Archmage was working hard to assure his influence on Triel, to gain as much as possible from the current chaos - and he obviously avoided Dantrag. They were both too proud to ignore their last quarrel; and Gromph left Dantrag completely to his inner struggle, his boiling rage.

The Weapon Master did not really want to leave the security of his brother´s rooms - his body was still weak, and many drow had probably been pleased by his death and would not approve of his return -, but he could not bear staying here all the time, even less with this silent tension between him and Gromph. He allowed himself a short promenade a week after he had left the sickbed - cloak and hood hiding most of his face, and without his house emblem.

When he returned to Gromph´s quarters - using again the secret door - he heard his brother in the bathroom. He thought once again of his erstwhile happiness with Gromph and clenched his fists - Do´Urden had not only taken his pride, but also his brother, his love.

His rage gave way, however, to complete surprise when he opened the door of his room to find a shapely, beautiful drow female sitting on his bed. Her alluring body was barely hidden by her thin, revealing robes, her long hair was lustrous, even by drow standards. Dantrag first feared a visit from one of his sisters and sighed in relief as he did not recognise her face. He shut the door and stepped closer, one hand cautiously on the hilt of his remaining sword, yet he relaxed immediately at her submissive posture and facial expression. Dantrag had seen many slaves in his life - a man in his position could even afford expensive drow females - and this one was without doubt completely broken.

"What are you doing here?" he hissed, closing his right hand about her chin.

"The Archmage ordered me to wait for you to give you whatever you desire," she answered in a perfectly obedient voice. Dantrag was delighted about such a pleasant gift, but also surprised at Gromph´s behaviour. The thought of his helplessness concerning his beloved brother quickly brought back the rage Dantrag had accumulated in the last week. A cruel grin appeared on his handsome features as he removed his piwafwi, boots and weapon belt before he laid down beside the seductive female.

* * *

Gromph just sat down at his bone desk after his return from Narbondel when he heard a knock on his door, and he bade his brother in immediately. Dantrag entered the room and looked around, never feeling comfortable in the Archmage´s study, but he quickly focused on Gromph. The mage returned his stare - Dantrag was naked except for his thin breeches, a long scar was clearly visible on his belly, his hands and lips were bloody, yet it was obviously not his own blood.

Gromph rose with a smile and said, "Did she please you?"

"She did," answered Dantrag, his voice calmer than in the last days, and the rage seemed to have left his body. "But why did you make me such an exquisite present? I do not think I deserved it."

"Because I knew you needed it, to get rid of your anger, to calm down," Gromph explained, still eyeing his brother curiously. He had pondered much about a possibility to help his brother, to overcome their dissension. Obviously, he knew him very well.

"It definitely worked," affirmed Dantrag and grinned. He took his brother´s hand and pulled him close, looking him in the eye. "But I had hoped you would invite me to your own bed," he whispered.

"Oh, I certainly wanted to, Dantrag ... I wanted to show you again the pleasures of life, I wanted to end our quarrel, I wanted to regain our intimacy ... But I did not want to suffer from your sadism."

"Very wise," Dantrag chuckled. He let go of his brother and led him to his small room.

Gromph was not easily shocked - drow knew cruelty better than any other race in the realms, and the Archmage had seen - and done - things over the last centuries that would even disgust most drow. What he saw on Dantrag´s bed was nothing compared to these horrors, but it surely confirmed that he had been wise to find some slave for Dantrag to take his anger out. The female had obviously died a most unpleasant death - her beautiful body was bruised and bloody from countless slaps and scratches, her right arm was twisted - probably broken or dislocated -, the smooth skin had been opened repeatedly by teeth, fingernails or a dagger point, and her belly was cut open expertly to assure that she would die slowly.

Dantrag, standing behind his brother, wrapped his arms around him and looked over Gromph´s shoulder to the corpse.

"As I know that you hold no interest in females, I thought you would not be bothered by her death ..." he whispered and turned Gromph around to look at him. The mage just smiled slightly at these words and shrugged.

"I apologise for my rudeness," Dantrag continued, and this time, Gromph nearly gasped in disbelief. His proud brother had never apologised for anything. On the other hand, Dantrag had never been so insolent towards his lover. "I should appreciate what you have done for me ... but you have to understand, Gromph. This damned Do´Urden did not only kill my body, he took my pride. He humiliated me more than any priestess could - and even though torturing a slave is amusing, it won´t change anything. I can´t just go on with my life as if nothing had happened."

He sighed and leaned against Gromph´s slender body, as if seeking comfort. He truly regretted his behaviour - even though he had needed to get rid of his anger before he could admit this to himself -, but he knew that nothing had changed since their last discussion. He knew that no matter how much he cared for Gromph and his brother for him, this wound would not heal. And Dantrag doubted he would be able to live with this sting in his pride and dignity.

Gromph nodded and remembered Dantrag´s words a week ago - Baenres did not lose. He himself had corrected his brother, yet Gromph was convinced that a part of this phrase was nonetheless true: At least he, Gromph Baenre, did not lose. He did not know yet what to do, but he knew that he would get Dantrag back to his old prowess and splendour. He knew that Dantrag would get his revenge. He knew that Drizzt Do´Urden would pay for this.

A vicious smile twisted Gromph´s young, attractive features. He would need inspiration to resolve these problems - and for centuries, nothing had inspired him more than lying with Dantrag ...

"I will take care of this mess later," he explained with a nod towards the corpse, but he referred as well to Dantrag´s turbulent feelings. The fighter followed Gromph obediently when his brother led him to his bedroom - he was glad he wouldn´t have to think about Drizzt Do´Urden for the next hours.


	5. Chapter Four

**Chapter Four**

It was a strange feeling to stay in bed when Gromph got up and returned to his study after their little entertainment. Dantrag was not used to having free time - no drow really was. In Menzoberranzan, every day was spent fighting, praying, studying, or whatever one´s profession demanded, and even if a drow found some time for himself, he still had to watch his back.

Dantrag relaxed, enjoying this rare pleasure, knowing that - whatever he might do in the future - it would not last long.

He was still lying in bed by the time Narbondel grew cold and Gromph entered his quarters. The fighter had not even seen him leave - but he had stopped wondering long ago about his powerful brother. But Dantrag _was_ confused by the determined look on Gromph´s face and the bundle he was carrying. The Weapon Master stood up and went over to the mage to have a closer look: he spotted a sword hilt and the glint of a dark chain mail.

"But, Gromph, you know nothing about weapons and armours! I wouldn´t buy spell components for you either!" he stated and chuckled.

Gromph grinned and handed him the packet. "No, but I know that no merchant would be foolish enough to pull a fast one on the Archmage of Menzoberranzan. I asked for the best gear he had to sell, and he sold it to me."

Dantrag had to admit that his brother was right when he pulled the long sword from its sheath. It was not overly adorned, but perfectly balanced and light. He whirled it around swiftly and smiled a bit - yes, it was a remarkable weapon. He nodded approvingly and took the chain mail and _piwafwi_ Gromph had bought along with the sword. Both items were enchanted with protective spells, and the armour was amazingly light. A worthy replacement for the one that had been destroyed in his last fight.

"Well, what is this for?" he asked finally, not understanding what his brother expected now.

"I supposed you did not want to change to a one-hand fighting style until you get Khazid´hea back," Gromph said nonchalantly.

"Excuse me?" Dantrag nearly dropped the chain mail - his brother had always been surprising, but Dantrag had definitely not been prepared for this plan - nor for Gromph´s violent reaction.

He pushed the fighter against the wall and hissed angrily, "You said that you could not live with your defeat, with this humiliation! And I will not allow you to die! That leaves us with little choice, doesn´t it? Kill Do´Urden, defeat him, get your pride back!"

Anger lit up in Dantrag´s eyes as he evaded Gromph´s grasp. "You are being ridiculous! Do´Urden beat me because he was the better fighter, and another duel won´t change this fact! I fight him again, and I die again!"

"It is so easy to give up, but it´s cowardly and unworthy of a Baenre! When was the last time you actually worked on your skills? You have been unchallenged for over a century. You have spent your time training young drow, fighting battles that did not even require half of your prowess. But have you improved your skills over the last decades, with no foe against whom you needed more than some routine attacks?" Gromph said, and Dantrag´s wince showed him that he had hit a nerve.

"I will provide you enough challenges, Dantrag. No one is invincible, not even Drizzt Do´Urden," the mage continued in a more even voice. "Do you want revenge, or do you want to hide and whine like a faerie?"

Gromph knew exactly what he had to say to bait his brother, and even though Dantrag noticed that he was being manipulated, it hardly bothered him. No word had ever rang so sweetly in his ears as "revenge". And was it not perfectly sound what Gromph had said? Dantrag had thought himself invincible and had erred. Would it not be the same with the seemingly unbeatable renegade? And was it not true that there was actually more potential slumbering in him, wasted by decades of dull performance of duty and without any real challenge for the fighter without peer?

"What challenges do you have in mind?" Dantrag asked finally, suddenly intrigued by the idea of defeating Drizzt.

"Other planes house countless foes against whom you could improve your skills. You will see," Gromph said with a wicked smile. "And you know how to work hard, don´t you?"

Dantrag sighed and nodded - he had not been one of those unbelievably talented young drow who learnt the most difficult moves effortlessly. He had always been the best, not only thanks to talent, but also to hard work: during his time at Melee-Magthere, as student and later as master, he had spent hours in the training hall long after most others had gone to bed. But Gromph was right - he had let up in the last decades, so convinced that he was the best that he had not tried to become still better. He had thought that it was enough to be Menzoberranzan´s finest Weapon Master, but he had obviously erred.

"I will find Do´Urden, once the time has come, and make sure you two won´t be bothered by his annoying friends," Gromph interrupted his thoughts. "Trust me, Dantrag."

The drow word for trust - _khaless_ - usually had an ironic, derisive overtone. Drow did not trust anyone, and they used this word only when speaking about the lesser races. Yet Gromph managed to make it sound perfectly honest and credible, and Dantrag did indeed trust his brother.

The Weapon Master took up his new sword and stroked the adamantium blade tenderly.

"A fine sword ... But I prefer my old one. And I dearly miss Khazid´hea´s frenetic voice in my head," he said with a laugh. Dantrag had controlled the sentient sword entirely, better than any other wielder - but no one could force Cutter to be silent permanently.

"And you dare complain about insane wizards? At least we don´t speak to weapons," Gromph said grinning while he wrapped his arms around Dantrag, snuggling against his strong chest. "I promise you, Dantrag ... soon enough I will kiss Drizzt Do´Urden´s blood from your hands," the mage whispered in his brother´s ear.

"This morning was obviously not enough for you," stated Dantrag when he felt Gromph´s hands trailing over his body.

"Unlike you, I have not been dead or unconscious for several weeks, but very much alive and left with mediocre playmates I could not enjoy in the least. I have missed you, Dantrag, for several reasons ..." Gromph bit into his brother´s earlobe, chuckling as he felt Dantrag wincing in his arms.

"So I have to take care of your pent up longings, right?" the fighter laughed, quickly opening Gromph´s thick robes. He felt slightly relieved by the prospect of revenge, of bringing some order back into his life.

"Exactly. You may regard it as a little thank you for my efforts ... I have earned that, don´t you think?" Gromph winked and kissed Dantrag on the mouth, softly sucking on his bottom lip. The fighter tolerated the caresses for a short while, but he eventually withdrew and touched his slightly swollen lips. He took another step backwards when his brother tried to embrace him again.

"Oh, come on, Dantrag. How could you reject me? I know how insatiable you are - your lust in bed equals your lust for battle," Gromph almost purred, but he grinned widely. He loved to tease his brother, to play with him, to pretend to be submissive, needing - even though both of them knew that Gromph could more easily renounce carnal pleasures than his brother.

Dantrag hesitated - he would like to turn him away once, just as a little act of revenge for Gromph´s whims, but he wanted him simply too much. And was it not the beauty of their relationship that they did not need to prove themselves to each other? Dantrag knew that Gromph respected and cared for him - he did not need constant proofs of respect and affection. He was not hurt when Gromph did not want him - because he knew that his brother had his reasons and did not want to humiliate him.

The Weapon Master grinned and pulled Gromph close, kissing him fiercely. This day had been unusual, but pleasant, and Dantrag intended to let it end the same pleasurable way it had started. Somehow he knew that reality would all-too soon crush down on him - and he wanted another night of pleasure and tenderness before that happened.

Dantrag entered Gromph´s study early the next morning, even before his brother had gone to Narbondel. The Archmage looked up from the heavy book on his desk and studied his brother intensely: Dantrag nearly looked like the unchallenged Weapon Master he had been before his fatal encounter with Drizzt Do´Urden. He wore the new chain mail and _piwafwi_ in which he moved as silently and gracefully as if he had been wearing only light clothes. He had tucked his thumbs into his belt, close to the formidable long swords. Yet there was a grim determination in his amber eyes that had replaced blind pride, and he did not wear his long hair in the traditional tail of a Weapon Master, but open and untied.

"You look good," stated Gromph.

"What do you have in store for me?" Dantrag asked calmly, ignoring the compliment.

"You will see," the Archmage replied and got up. He glanced a final time in his book and took several spell components from one of the shelves - Dantrag did not even try to identify them - and began to chant, waving his arms and hands in precise, complex movements. His fingertips glowed bluish, and the air was soon filled with a strange, sharp smell that distressed the keen senses of a drow. The fighter shifted slightly at this sight, once again impressed by the sheer power Gromph emanated. A flaming door slowly appeared in front of the Archmage as he finished the spell in an impossible tongue twister - at least it sounded like one to Dantrag´s ears. He motioned his brother to follow him as he stepped through the portal.

The room they entered was completely empty and dark - actually, it could not even be called a room, as there were neither walls nor a ceiling. If he had not been standing on it, Dantrag would have said there was no floor either.

The fighter knew enough about magic to know that Gromph had probably created this extraplanar room and shaped it to his liking. The Archmage often used such rooms for secret meetings, as they were perfectly secured against any scrying. Dantrag let his eyes shift into infravision and quickly caught sight of a formless hot spot not far from him. He couldn´t identify the creature, but he understood soon enough why Gromph had chosen it as his sparring partner: it was some kind of shapeshifter, who took the body of a drow warrior, a giant, a basilisk and several monsters Dantrag knew only partially within several seconds.

"It will adopt any body you chose - it is bound to my will and I ordered it to obey you. And don´t worry; I made sure it cannot hurt or even kill you here, no matter in what shape," Gromph explained. "Have a good day."

The Archmage chuckled and stepped back through the portal, closing it behind him. For a few moments Dantrag just stood there in the darkness, amazed at Gromph´s resourcefulness, before he drew his swords and turned towards the creature that finally stopped its shapeshifting. A tall, lithe surface elven warrior stood only a few steps away from him. The drow smiled - yes, this was a good suggestion, an excellent fight to start with.

He attacked in a blur of whirling blades, faster and more daring than he would have in a normal fight, just to get a measure of his new weapon and to warm his muscles up. The elf quickly stepped aside while drawing his thin, slightly curved swords to meet the drow´s next charge. Four blades clashed against each other with the sound Dantrag knew better than any other. His first attacks came stiff and he lost his balance several times, due to his lack of training over the last weeks, but he found back to his old skill quickly enough. Each move, each thrust came with more force and deftness than the one before, each manoeuvre was more cunning, and he remembered soon enough all those feints and tricks he had learnt over the centuries of his long life.

Dantrag spent nearly an hour crossing blades with the skilled elf - none of them was wounded, as Gromph´s spells protected them both - until he finally forced an opening in the elf´s perfect defences. His new sword slipped through the formerly deflected elven blades, too fast to be blocked or dodged, and crashed into the elf´s ribs. Of course the blade did not enter, but the creature recognised its defeat and resumed his wild shapeshifting.

As Dantrag did not ask for a specific form - he knew that every sort of training would do him good in the beginning - it stopped in a form of its own liking: a brown, huge, unbelievably ugly wyrm with an exoskeleton. The drow could not see any claws or teeth, nor did he knew what this _thing_ was, but he did not doubt that its pure weight made it a formidable foe, and the stinking liquid that poured out of its mouth was probably poisonous.

The Weapon Master just shrugged and fastened his grip on his swords, slowly approaching the beast. This would be a piece of cake compared to the fight with Drizzt Do´Urden that awaited him in the - hopefully near - future.

Gromph was mildly impressed when he opened the portal again twelve hours later and stepped into the extraplanar room. Dantrag was still on his feet, this time battling a huge drider. The fighter was soaked with sweat, his hair nearly wet, his black skin shining like polished ebony. His attacks were still amazingly precise and skilled, but slower than usual, showing clearly his exhaustion.

The Archmage dismissed the creature with a wave of his right hand - he did not want his brother to end this day with a defeat, and it was obvious that Dantrag could not win against the strong drider in his current state. The Weapon Master tumbled when his swords suddenly hit only air, but he regained his balance quickly and whirled around, as if expecting some devious trick. He relaxed, though, when he recognised the slender, robed figure of his brother. He went over to the door and stepped through it behind Gromph, who closed it once again.

The Archmage started to say something, but Dantrag virtually collapsed in his arms - the adrenaline, the heat of battle had kept him on his feet, but even his considerable stamina was not unlimited and could not ignore the murderous training he had put himself through. Gromph caught him in his arms and led him to his luxurious bath room - any conversation could wait.

Dantrag removed his armour and clothing while Gromph opened the taps to fill the bath tub with hot water to which he added some scented oil. Even as he left the room, Dantrag entered the tub and closed his eyes, enjoying the hot water that washed the soreness from his muscles.

The mage undressed meanwhile and went to bed, tired as well from a long discussion with Triel earlier this day. The new Matron Mother of the First House was in a more than difficult position - the failed raid on Mithril Hall, started and led by House Baenre, had weakened Menzoberranzan and the First House, in number of soldiers as well as in reputation. Of course, they were still more powerful than the three following houses together, with nearly a score high priestesses, numerous common priestesses and wizards, still over a thousand warriors - and besides those of House Barrison Del´Armgo, the best warriors of the city - and an inexhaustible stock of fodder. And with Triel and Gromph at the head of Arach-Tinilith and Sorcere respectively, the Academy was clearly in the grip of the First House. Yet Triel was not nearly as powerful and unchallenged as her legendary mother had been, nor did she seem very comfortable in her new position. She hesitated, and while Yvonnel had made her decisions alone, Triel often relied on the counsel of others - particularly on Gromph´s.

His thoughts were interrupted when Dantrag joined him later, clean and freshly dressed. Still without a word and too tired to eat anything, he sank on the bed, not even making the effort to snuggle against his brother.

Gromph grinned slightly and whispered, "Typical. You´re always overdoing it. I´m sure you didn´t even take a break."

"I won´t defeat Drizzt Do´Urden by taking breaks," Dantrag grumbled, his voice so low that Gromph barely understood him. The mage knew better than to argue with his stubborn brother when it came to Dantrag´s hard training methods - after all, they were more than effective. He opened his mouth nonetheless, if only for some tender words, but Dantrag had already closed his eyes and was more asleep than awake. Gromph shook his head in disbelief and curled up against him, but he bit back any comment.

Yet he didn´t feel sleepy, he had too much on his mind. He contemplated his sleeping brother, whose features looked even now tense and stern. But Dantrag´s renewed eagerness and determination had calmed Gromph a bit - it reassured him that his brother would, sooner or later, be ready to fight Drizzt Do´Urden and finally defeat him. He had complete confidence in Dantrag´s talent, and with the right amount of training and preparation - something that had lacked in the first fight - the fighter should be able to beat this young renegade.

The hint of a smile showed on Gromph´s face when he kissed Dantrag on the forehead. How surprised most drow would probably be if they could see him like this, lying in his brother´s arms. Gromph was known for his cruelty, and most drow would probably think him unable of even the slightest tenderness. Gromph suddenly wondered if Triel knew about him and Dantrag, just as Yvonnel had known. She would ask for answers once she learnt of Dantrag´s return, and she wouldn´t be pleased to hear about this priest of Selvetarm. Gromph knew that his actions had been highly blasphemous in the opinion of a Menzoberranyr priestess, but he was also confident that Triel wouldn´t make a big thing of it - she knew that the Archmage was probably the most loyal ally she had in her ever-scheming house, certainly more reliable than her sisters. As for Dantrag, Triel had, unlike many other priestesses, never been offended by the Weapon Master´s pride and arrogance and even thought him amusing.

Gromph nestled closer to his brother and sighed - his thoughts had gone in circles for the last weeks, but now, for the first time since Dantrag´s death, he had once again hope that everything would be put right sooner or later. He reminded himself that nothing was predictable when dealing with Drizzt Do´Urden, but he felt nonetheless relieved now that he had managed to inspire some motivation in Dantrag. He looked again at his brother, and the pleasant vision of Dantrag killing the annoying renegade made him forget about his troubles, allowing him to finally find some rest.


	6. Chapter Five

**Chapter Five**

Dantrag was wakened by the excruciating pain that coursed through his whole body. Every single muscle hurt, and he groaned in pain when he sat up. He had not known such a muscle ache since his youth, as a student of the former Baenre Weapon Master and later at the Academy.

It was apparently very early because Gromph still lay beside him, deep in reverie. Dantrag smiled slightly and took some time to contemplate his brother, once more fascinated by the youthful, smooth features that seemed more fitting for an apprentice than for a seven centuries old archmage. With his eyes closed and a soft, relaxed expression on his face, Gromph looked nearly boyish - but Dantrag liked him this way.

The Weapon Master sighed and lay back, again with a silent groan - he had to ask Gromph later to find him a slave for massages. Dantrag closed his eyes and began to think about the past few days, determined to forget his aching muscles.

He wondered, not for the first time, why he so desperately desired a fair fight. He hadn´t minded Berg´inyon´s help in his first fight against Drizzt Do´Urden, he had even welcomed it - not only when it became clear that he couldn´t beat the renegade on his own. But the idea that Gromph might help him to kill Do´Urden offended Dantrag now, and the Archmage seemed to know this very well. But why? Why was it not enough to kill Drizzt? After all, drow were hardly known for their sense of honour.

It didn´t take Dantrag much time to figure it out: while he had been just as proud and arrogant before his first battle against Drizzt, his motivation to fight the renegade had been different. Weeks ago - it seemed to Dantrag as if years had passed since then - he had wanted to prove himself to others. He had wanted to silence the last voices that doubted his superiority over Zaknafein and Drizzt. He had wanted to please his Matron. He had wanted to amplify his reputation. And even though he had wondered if he could be beaten - mostly after Zaknafein´s death - he had never seriously believed it.

Yet it was different now. This wasn´t about his reputation anymore; above all, he wanted - no, he needed to prove to himself that he was better than Drizzt. He needed to defeat him with skill alone, in a fair fight with a clear victory. While he could accept Gromph´s help in finding the renegade, he couldn´t accept his help in battle. It had to be just him and Drizzt.

A fair fight - that should please the 'good' renegade, Dantrag thought with a cruel, ruthless smile. How ironic and beautiful - that he should succeed where all those powerful females had failed. He chuckled silently, even though it made his muscles hurt even more. In moments such as this, Dantrag was sure that Lolth favoured him.

Or was it Selvetarm?

Dantrag furrowed his brow at this startling idea - until now, he had wasted no thought on the god who had granted him his life. And even now, his pondering was interrupted by Gromph, whose light sleep had been disturbed by Dantrag´s chuckle.

Gromph moved over to his brother and kissed him softly, before he whispered, "How do you feel?"

Dantrag seemed a bit distracted for a moment, but then he turned his head to look at Gromph, grimacing with pain. "Terrible, thank you."

The Archmage grinned coldly and continued, without a hint of compassion in his voice, "I scried a bit on Do´Urden yesterday, but you fell asleep before I could tell you about it. I thought it might be helpful to learn more about his whereabouts."

Dantrag sat up immediately, and in his excitement he even forgot his pain. "What did you learn?"

"Drizzt Do´Urden has not kept your sword for himself," Gromph explained. As Archmage, he was proficient in most schools of magic, and divination was one of his strong points. "He clearly favours his scimitars and gave the sword to the human female who helped him to escape."

Dantrag scowled and shook his head in disgust. His prized weapon in the hands of a human? It was insulting!

"He kept your bracers, though, but he uses them on his feet. Obviously he thinks they would throw him off balance, used on his hands," Gromph continued with a shrug - he didn´t know much about fighting, but he supposed that the information might be of use to Dantrag.

This time, the Weapon Master nodded slightly - after all, his own incapacity to control his magical speed had been one of the reasons he had lost the fight, and Drizzt had learnt from this mistake. How would the renegade deal with his increased speed? Dantrag wondered. And how would he himself deal with an opponent who moved so fast?

"Do´Urden remains in Mithral Hall, with the dwarven king and the woman," the Archmage said, not wanting his brother to get lost in his thoughts. "She accompanies him sometimes when he leaves the halls to scout the surroundings, but not always. It should be easy enough to find him alone. If not, I will take care of her, just as I will take care of the panther."

Gromph studied Dantrag´s expression as the fighter listened eagerly - he did not doubt Gromph´s words. Berg´inyon had betrayed him, yes, because Berg´inyon had had several reasons to do so - and Dantrag had never been foolish enough to trust his youngest brother. But it was different with Gromph - Dantrag trusted him blindly, and Gromph´s actions in the last weeks had strengthened this trust even more.

"Either way we will have to pay the woman a visit. I want Khazid´hea back," Dantrag explained after some moments of silence.

"That will be arranged. And we can decide later what we will do with her," Gromph replied with a wicked grin. None of them would take advantage of the woman - they were both too racist to desire a human -, but there were countless other ways to have fun with some _iblith_. The very thought aroused Dantrag, and he looked hungrily at his brother.

"Don´t even think about it. You won´t defeat Drizzt Do´Urden by bedding me," Gromph chuckled, echoing Dantrag´s own words. He ignored his brother´s cursing and got up, and Dantrag followed him soon enough - his thirst for revenge was stronger than his muscle ache.

* * *

Dantrag lost every measure of time in the next weeks. His days were spent in the extraplanar room, his evenings under the skilled hands of a slave, while Gromph informed him about the current intrigues in Menzoberranzan. Whatever Dantrag might do once his business with Drizzt was settled, and he had no idea about this seemingly far future, he could not allow himself any mistakes due to a lack of information.

The pain in his muscles lessened slowly. After several days which he had needed to get his stiff muscles back to work, he felt his skill increase almost constantly, as he faced powerful foes against whom he needed every trick and manoeuvre he knew and who sometimes forced him to invent new ones as well. He trained until he reached his limits and often further, yet he always pointed out to Gromph that he still needed more time, that he wasn´t ready yet.

"What are you waiting for?" Gromph asked one evening, sitting on a cushioned chair near his bed where Dantrag lay under the massaging hands of his slave.

The Weapon Master lazily opened an eye and furrowed his brow. "What do you mean?"

"You know what I mean," Gromph hissed angrily. "You´ve been training for weeks and you keep telling me how much you progress. And yet you still want to wait! I thought you wanted to settle this quickly and move on?"

"There´s no need to rush anything and provoke another defeat," Dantrag explained, sitting up and waving the slave away - the human was obviously glad to be dismissed, given the increasingly hard tone of the drows´ voices. Dantrag´s words seemed logical, but Gromph knew his impatient, impetuous brother well enough to recognise them as a pretence.

"Always the cautious one, aren´t you?" the mage scoffed and leaned forward to look Dantrag deep in the eye. "Let me tell you something, my dear brother: you are scared."

His words had the desired effect - Dantrag´s eyes glowed red with anger and for a moment he even seemed to lose his temper. But he restrained himself, knowing that Gromph wasn´t entirely wrong. While Dantrag wouldn´t concede that he was scared, he was definitely uncertain and unconfident. What if Drizzt proved again to be the better? What if he would be unable to defeat Drizzt and only survive because Gromph would save him? What if he would have to live with the knowledge that he had been defeated, despite all his training? These thoughts had tormented him for weeks, and while they had also urged him on, they had frightened him as well.

Gromph still stared at him and raised an eyebrow. "Get up, Dantrag - I don´t want a coward in my bed," he said almost casually, knowing that this tone would offend his brother more than any yelling.

The Weapon Master seemed petrified for a moment, but then he rose slowly, glanced again at his brother and left, returning to the small room in which he had rested just after the resurrection. He sank on the bed, his face contorted in hatred and fascination - for a moment, he hated Gromph for knowing him so well, for manipulating him so easily, and he hated himself for tolerating it.

But he quickly directed his hatred at Drizzt, who had after all been the one who had brought him in this cursed situation. He gritted his teeth and forced a bitter smile on his lips - he shouldn´t see Gromph as a manipulator, but rather as an ally who helped him overcome his fears. No, not overcome, Dantrag corrected himself quickly, for his fears were still there, gnawing at him, but Gromph helped him to sort through his feelings and his priorities - knowing that Dantrag would never allow himself to be reigned by fear rather than by pride.

He went to see Gromph the next morning, informing him coldly that he would fight Drizzt in two days. His brother´s approving smile made Dantrag forget the harsh words Gromph had said to him the previous day. However, he couldn´t abstain from calling Gromph a manipulative bastard when he left the Archmage´s study. Gromph had only laughed.

Dantrag decided to reduce his training to some stretching and short exercises on the last day before the fight, and spent the day relaxing and meditating, trying to lock up his fears in the remotest corner of his mind. Gromph was right, of course. There was no place for fear in the heart of a drow.

No place for fear in the heart of the Weapon Master who planned to kill Drizzt Do´Urden.


	7. Chapter Six

**Chapter Six**

Drizzt Do'Urden wondered if he had ever seen a day as beautiful as this one when he left Mithral Hall on a clear winter morning. It was cold, but the sky was perfectly blue, the winter sun shone so brightly that it stung his eyes - but Drizzt enjoyed it nonetheless. There was no such beauty in the Underdark, no such peace.

The drow began to run, not because he was in a hurry - actually, he had not even a definite destination - but simply because he liked running over the dry ground and grasses, feeling the cold wind on his face, and as Catti-Brie was not with him this day, he did not have to wait for the slower and less nimble human. He had asked her to come with him - he always did - but she had preferred to stay with Bruenor, who was in a particularly bad mood. Several months had passed since the drow attack, but the losses among dwarves and humans had been considerable and painful, and Bruenor kept cursing the "damn dark elves".

Drizzt sighed and took a small onyx statue out of his pocket to call Guenhwyvar to his side - this was too perfect a day to think about his kin, especially as he was rather sure that they would finally leave him alone. Menzoberranzan would need time to lick her wounds after the failed raid on Mithral Hall and the deaths of several prominent personalities, Matron Baenre first of all; and with Vierna dead there was no other Do'Urden left to chase him, hoping to regain Lolth's favour.

The drow hummed the melody of some cheerful song he had once heard in Silverymoon, while he crossed a small stream at the foot of the mountains, balancing on a narrow bridge. Guen had hurried ahead, savouring her freedom after three days during which Drizzt had not called her. When the ranger hopped on the bank of the stream, he heard Guen's growl not far away and tensed immediately. Without the slightest sound he caught up with the panther, who was not facing any foes, but merely standing at the entry of a deep cavern. Drizzt furrowed his brow - the cavern had been occupied by different creatures over the last years, goblins, orcs, bears, wolves, but there was nothing unusual about it.

And then Drizzt heard it - screams, panicked and broken by sobs. It was a female voice, probably a human, perhaps from one of the small villages in the surroundings, crying for help. She was apparently deep in the cavern complex, as her cries were merely audible. Even Drizzt with his keen ears had nearly missed them.

It was, however, a cry for help - something Drizzt Do'Urden could not ignore. Scimitars drawn, Guen by his side, he quickly entered the first room of the cavern, surprised to find that it had obviously been abandoned for some time. There were no fresh traces from any creature at all - no one had passed through this room for weeks! Drizzt winced and moved even more cautiously into the cavern complex. Something was wrong, terribly wrong. He knew he should get help instead of advancing so recklessly, but it would take him an hour to run back to Mithral Hall, and even longer to return with help. Judging by the woman's cries, he decided that he did not have that much time.

Against all instincts and sanity, telling him that he was being foolhardy, he went on. After all, he had Guen by his side, and the two of them had survived for a decade in the Underdark - whatever awaited them in these caverns, they would find a way to defeat it.

Drizzt knew he was on the right path when the screams became louder and louder, and then they broke off suddenly. The drow halted and listened, trying to discern what had happened - had the woman been gagged, or even killed? Yet Drizzt could not hear any sound, no voices, no footsteps, nothing. He scrambled through an opening in one of the stone walls into a small, nearly round cavern, completely dark just as the ones before it. Guen growled as she entered it behind him, and Drizzt agreed fully - something was amiss. He could not discern many details of the cavern, despite his infravision, and he certainly saw nothing that lived, nor did he hear anything. But he sensed that they were not alone.

He was slightly unnerved, and glad to have Guenhwyvar with him. His eyes suddenly widened in surprise when he saw a movement in front of him, and a lithe, tall figure seemed to appear from nowhere. A drow, Drizzt recognised immediately, and one with an extraordinary piwafwi that could conceal him even from the eyes of someone who stood only several paces before him. But now the drow had opened his magical cloak, revealing himself.

Drizzt tensed even more when he noticed two things about the fighter - and he obviously was a fighter, wearing armour and two sheathed long swords. The first thing was the brooch that held his _piwafwi_ - it showed the Baenre House insignia, one every Menzoberranyr drow knew. The second was this one's eyes - not red, but like warm amber, and yet so full of hatred and cruelty.

Dantrag Baenre.

Impossible! screamed a voice in Drizzt's mind, but there could be no doubt about the drow's identity. Before him stood House Baenre's Weapon Master, the one Drizzt had killed several months ago - and he had been sure the Baenre had been dead! The renegade tightened his grip on the scimitars, quickly glancing around. They seemed to be alone, but Drizzt knew that drow never came without allies, and he did not see the woman who had cried for help either. These thoughts whirled through his mind in a matter of seconds, but Dantrag did not give him enough time to sort it out. Actually, he began to explain some things.

"Drizzt Do'Urden. Well met again," Dantrag said, his deep voice mocking and confident. Drizzt had seldom heard a voice as powerful and overbearing as this one's. "Don't look at me like that - you did not expect to get away with killing Menzoberranzan's finest warrior?"

Drizzt sighed - he was growing tired of those conceited warriors who had nothing better to do with their impressive skills than seeking him out to prove their superiority. Fighters like Dantrag Baenre, or Artemis Entreri, could become anything they wanted, yet they wasted their time on their ridiculous pride.

"What do you want, Dantrag?" Drizzt said more than he asked, speaking slowly as he was not used to his native language anymore. "You fought me, and you lost. And you know that your defeat was not due to bad luck. Why do you think it will be different now?"

Anger flashed through Dantrag's hard eyes, but he remained calm. "Things have changed, Do'Urden," he stated simply, but Drizzt interrupted him suddenly, "Where is the woman?"

"An illusion," came the answer, but not from Dantrag. Another drow, smaller than the two fighters, stepped in sight, ending his invisibility spell with a wave of his slender hand. Drizzt winced in confusion and terror when he recognised him: the Archmage of Menzoberranzan, Gromph Baenre. Dantrag's eldest brother and, besides Jarlaxle, Menzoberranzan's most powerful male.

Drizzt regained his composure quickly, even though he inwardly began to panic. He was sure he could have defeated Dantrag and even some other soldiers the Weapon Master might have brought with him, but Gromph? Judging by all Drizzt had heard about him, the Archmage could kill him and Guen with a flick of his wrist. Maybe, if he acted fast, he could take Dantrag down before Gromph killed him, but it seemed an impossible task, even with his enhanced speed. Why give them the pleasure to see him struggle?

"Killing me with a wizard's help? What will that prove?" he said, his voice calm despite his seemingly hopeless situation.

"Nothing. Gromph is only here to ensure that we won't be bothered." Even as Dantrag spoke these words, the Archmage uttered a short spell, waving his right hand in a nearly casual manner, as if shooing away a fly. Guen growled in frustration and denial, but she could not withstand this drow's power. She tried to approach the two Baenre brothers, but green mist was forming quickly around here and she was sent back to her home plane.

Drizzt sheathed his scimitars, drawing incredulous stares from both Dantrag and Gromph.

"You will kill me," he stated. "Why should I give you the pleasure to fight you, if this encounter will end with my death anyway?"

How bitterly this situation reminded him of a similar encounter not so long ago, when he had been taken prisoner by Jarlaxle on Vierna's behalf. His sister had wanted to sacrifice him, and Artemis Entreri, who had aided the drow to capture Drizzt, had negotiated that he might fight the renegade before he was killed. Drizzt had refused to take up his weapons to satisfy the assassin's desire to prove himself before he died anyway.

He did not understand that there was a small difference here.

"Ah, because we will visit your human whore once I have finished you off. You gave her something that belongs to me ... And what we will do to her depends greatly on your cooperation now. I heard she was quite attractive for a human - there are enough drow who favour exotic females in their bed. She would be a beautiful add-on to some Menzoberranyr brothel, don't you think?" Dantrag replied with a wicked grin. He was enjoying this already, even before the true fight began.

Drizzt felt the urge to tear out the Weapon Master's heart with his bare hands. Nothing angered him more than someone speaking like this about his closest friend. The Hunter screamed in him, urging him to take out his blades and attack this demon. But Drizzt's discipline fought him down - he would not allow this one to provoke him.

"Catti-Brie remains safely in Mithral Hall."

"Do you believe stone walls will keep the Archmage of Menzoberranzan at bay?" Dantrag laughed in his face, tossing a sly grin to his brother, who stood at his side, staring hard at Drizzt.

The renegade nearly cringed under this stare - he remembered the ease with which Gromph had sent Guenhwyvar away, along with the stories he had heard about the Archmage in his years at the Academy. No, Catti-Brie would not be safe from this one, not even in Mithral Hall.

"If you will go to her, you will torture or kill her either way, no matter what I do," Drizzt countered, but his voice trembled when he said these words. He had never before felt so helpless, and the thought of Catti-Brie in Dantrag's and Gromph's hands nearly made him gag.

"Will we? We might, yes, and we might not ... Refuse to fight, and we certainly will do things to her which you cannot even imagine," the Weapon Master promised. "Do you want to die with the knowledge that your stubbornness caused her so much pain?"

Drizzt exploded into motion before Dantrag even finished his last sentence. If this one wanted a fight, he would get one. He doubted the Baenres would leave Catti-Brie alone, even if he accepted Dantrag's challenge, but he could not bear the thought that he might have missed the chance to save her.

Gromph quickly stepped back as Drizzt jerked out his scimitars and charged - he was magically protected against any attack, but he did not want to stand in his brother's way. Dantrag managed easily to dodge Drizzt's first attack, as it was more an outburst of rage than a well directed charge, and drew his swords in the same second.

Drizzt's second attack was matched by a perfect parry, and the ring of metal filled the small cavern, echoing back from the walls. The first minutes of the fight were more an exchange of routine attacks - routine attacks that would have easily defeated a lesser fighter - than a true attempt to beat the other. They had battled only months ago, yet they were again measuring each other. Dantrag had to get used to Drizzt's speed as the renegade virtually danced around him, each time attacking from a different side or angle, and Drizzt noticed that Dantrag wielded his blades with greater control and precision without his bracers. He forced himself to calm down - Dantrag was too formidable an adversary for hasty, daring charges.

They parted after several minutes, yet their stares did not unlock. Despite his hatred and anger, Dantrag managed to keep his head - he had understood the great advantage Drizzt had gained thanks to his enhanced speed and let him take the initiative. Drizzt complied willingly and attacked with swift, precise blows which Dantrag intercepted before they even came close to his body. Two steps, too quick for Dantrag to follow, brought Drizzt diagonally behind his foe, and one blade came immediately down on Dantrag's side, one to his knee. Both blades hit Dantrag's blocking swords.

Drizzt drew back several steps, while Dantrag turned around and attacked with his left sword, which was closer to his adversary. The renegade could only jump aside, surprised that the Baenre had even managed to parry his former attack - Dantrag had not seen the scimitars approaching, yet his block had been perfect.

For a split second, Drizzt lost his balance under Dantrag's furious attacks, but he quickly regained the offensive through his speed. He forced Dantrag's swords down with a double-thrust on his legs, turned his wrists outwards and thus twisted Dantrag's arms. Even while the Weapon Master complied, Drizzt yanked Icingdeath up and struck at Dantrag's head, not leaving him enough time to get a blade up in a parry.

Drizzt knew that he had him now, but the curved blade of his scimitar hit only air - Dantrag had dropped to the ground. The Baenre did not finish his backward roll, but kicked at Drizzt's right wrist to force the younger drow back, thus preventing him from pressing on his attack. A twitch of his leg and abdomen muscles brought him back on his feet and in the same fluid motion, his twin swords dashed against Drizzt's thighs. Icingdeath blocked one blade on the left, but Drizzt's right hand could barely hold Twinkle, let alone parry this powerful blow - the drow blade drove deep into his flesh.

Dantrag was good, unbelievably good. The realisation that he might very well lose this fight made Drizzt ignore his pain. He was not too badly wounded, and his following parries came more and more firmly. Then, suddenly, he tried to hit Dantrag's left hand, his scimitar too close to himself to reach the Baenre's body. Dantrag slightly angled his sword to block the curious stroke, but Drizzt altered his movement in the last moment and thrusted forward. Dantrag recognised the feint too late to do anything else but jump back, followed by a furious, impossibly fast whirl of attacks.

A smile appeared on Drizzt's features - he was pressing Dantrag hard with his speed, and he felt the Weapon Master slowing down and breathing heavily. He forced Dantrag to retreat to the cavern wall, again working his swords low to pull his right hand up and punch him in the face with a scimitar hilt. So close to the wall, Dantrag could not drop himself again. But the Weapon Master's slowness had only been simulated - reacting quickly, he turned his head to the side, so that Drizzt's fist crashed into the wall. The younger drow groaned, even more as Dantrag shoved him away - their long blades were not adapted to a fight so close to each other.

Drizzt held his balance and continued to block every deft attack he was confronted with, but he realised slowly that he could not win this fight, unless he found a way to use his speed to his advantage. He tried desperately to think of a feint or a manoeuvre that would put Dantrag off balance, his hands working in perfect movements to hold the thin swords at bay.

Suddenly, Drizzt pivoted to the side, angling his body and his blades so deftly that he managed to parry the next two blows with Icingdeath alone, leaving Twinkle free to attack. His position was too awkward for a lethal strike, but he succeeded to cut a deep gash in Dantrag's side.

The Baenre's face turned into a mask of pain, but his self-discipline kept him from flinching or stumbling. He worked fast to turn Drizzt's former advantage - to block both swords with one scimitar - into a disadvantage - to be confronted to two quick blades pressing aggressively on Icingdeath alone, while Twinkle was left in an awkward angle after the successful attack. Dantrag practically tore the scimitar from Drizzt's hands while the renegade still had to bring Twinkle before him. Icingdeath clanked to the ground. To fight Dantrag with two weapons was difficult enough, with one blade it was simply impossible.

Just as Drizzt wanted to reach for the dagger on his belt, Dantrag cut his girdle. Drizzt stumbled when the leather belt fell down, nearly wrapping itself around his legs. He knew that he offered Dantrag an opening - but the Weapon Master did not finish it: he just slapped him in the face with the broadside of his right sword, while his left one held Twinkle at bay.

Drizzt recognised that Dantrag was playing with him when the Baenre wasted another opening, cutting a slash in Drizzt's upper arm instead of dealing out the killing blow. He is arrogant, too confident of victory, he will make a mistake, Drizzt tried to reassure himself, wincing through his pain - but Dantrag did not make a mistake. He seemed to be tireless, still as fast as when their battle had begun, while Drizzt began to slow down.

Twinkle suddenly flew out of his hand and fell to the ground, and Drizzt could hardly understand how Dantrag had managed to disarm him completely. The clamour rang in Drizzt's ears like the announcement of certain death. Another nearly playful hit on his thigh made him stumble, followed by a brutal thrust that pierced his kneecap. His right leg gave in under him and he slumped to the ground, in a last effort trying to draw the dagger that was hidden in his boot.

The feeling of a cold blade against his throat made him pause. Dantrag stood over him, smiling, and Drizzt swallowed hard when he felt the Baenre's second blade between his thighs. Against all rationality, he peered to the entry of the cavern, hoping that Catti-Brie and Bruenor would come to his aid. Had he not always been rescued by his friends or simply by good luck?

A glance at Dantrag's eyes showed him that the best thing he could hope for was a quick, painless death.

"Well, Drizzt," Dantrag said in a rough, breathless voice, "what do you think now? Are you still convinced that Zaknafein would have beaten me?"

Drizzt glared at him, his eyes full of venom - how was it even possible that Dantrag had become so much better? Yes, even better than Zaknafein, as Drizzt had to admit to himself.

"I think that Zaknafein would have cut this smug grin out of your face," he growled between clenched teeth - and cried out in pain when Dantrag's sword nearly cut through his right thigh, before it swung back and did the same to his left leg. Tears ran over Drizzt's cheeks, his vision blurred, but he still saw Gromph stepping to Dantrag's side, looking derisively down to the loser. Yet Dantrag barely noticed his brother, his gaze fixed on Drizzt as he growled, "Tell me the truth!"

With Dantrag's sword between his torn thighs and the certainty that this drow wouldn't hesitate to harm more sensitive parts of his body, Drizzt whimpered in a broken voice, "You would have beaten him ..."

A pleased, but cruel smile twisted Dantrag's handsome features, and he sheathed the sword whose tip had pressed against Drizzt´s throat. He lifted the other one as well, gently touching the bloody blade, and chuckled.

"Time for me to get Khazid'hea back. But don't worry, I have enough time to watch you die," he said in a casual way, and thrusted the sword in Drizzt's belly, slowly slicing him up to the chest. Drizzt's eyes widened, his torn lips parted, but no sound escaped them in these seemingly endless moments of pain. The blade ripped open a lung and was pulled back. Dantrag crouched slowly beside the renegade and his fingers touched the blood-soaked torso almost tenderly.

"Maybe I'll make an exception to my habit of sleeping only with drow, when I visit your whore," he whispered in Drizzt's ear. Then he looked him in the eyes, laughing quietly when Drizzt stared at him in shock, incredulity and pain. The renegade coughed blood, struggling against death, but life finally left his broken body.

Dantrag's sword sank to the floor, and the Baenre looked at the torn body for a long time, still breathing heavily. He took his bracers from Drizzt's ankles and examined them quickly before he strapped them to his wrists. When he felt Gromph's long fingers on his shoulder, the Weapon Master got up and turned around to face his brother. Gromph was not smiling, but his eyes showed respect, approval, understanding. He took Dantrag's hands in his own, slowly raising them to his lips to kiss the blood from the calloused fingers, without breaking their eye-contact. Dantrag knew that only Gromph's presence made this victory a perfect triumph. He wrapped his arms suddenly around his brother, crushing him against his chest and kissing him fiercely. He felt Gromph's fingers roaming over his body, suddenly touching the long gash in his side. Dantrag winced and drew back, but he smiled when his brother handed him a small bottle filled with some bluish liquid.

"You thought I would need it," the fighter stated, opening the vial.

"I knew he would not die without hurting you."

The Weapon Master grinned and drank the healing potion, relaxing as the magic filled his body and closed the wound, leaving flawless black skin under the torn links of his chain mail.

"What will we do with him? I don't want him to be eaten while we're retrieving Khazid'hea. Triel will probably want a proof for his death," Dantrag said, kicking the dead renegade in the side.

"Matron Mother Triel," Gromph corrected with a grin, but then he produced a small gemstone out of a pocket and quickly cast a spell on the corpse to protect it from scavengers, at least until they came back to take it with them. Dantrag stepped closer to his brother and wrapped an arm around his waist when Gromph started a teleport spell, softly chanting the seemingly incoherent words.

* * *

Khazid'hea _sensed_ him. Its former master. The one who had controlled it too much for its liking, but the worthiest wielder it had ever known. Not like this weak human woman who always lost when sparring with her drow fiend. This drow friend who had killed Dantrag. Khazid'hea did not understand why its dead master was here - even a sentient sword has only limited intelligence - but neither did it care.

_Well met again_, it sent.

A smile lit up on Dantrag's features when he appeared in the woman's quarters in Mithral Hall and immediately heard these welcoming words. The human was not there, but several oil lamps were lit and their light stung his eyes. Feeling the sword's presence, he loosened his grip on Gromph's waist and stepped to the small wooden table with the woman's gear. Cutter was sheathed in a brown, tawdry scabbard, but its hilt had already changed back into the old demon head form.

_You replaced me_, the sword growled in Dantrag's mind, and its voice sounded almost sulking.

The Weapon Master laughed and drew his new right-hand sword, before he took Khazid'hea and sheathed it.

_I killed Drizzt Do'Urden_. Immediately, a wave of savage emotions - hunger, rage, approval, joy - invaded his mind, the tumultuous thoughts of his chaotic sword. It took him several seconds to silence it - he had nearly forgotten Khazid'hea's will power. _I suppose you didn't forget me, Cutter, but I will remind you nonetheless that I'm no weak human_, he scolded it telepathically.

"Forgive me for disturbing this tender reunion, Dantrag," he heard Gromph's amused voice behind him, "but have you decided what to do with the woman?"

The Weapon Master turned to look at his brother, meanwhile tucking his now unneeded sword under his belt.

"We wait for her. I want her to know that I killed him," he snarled. His voice trembled with venom, and the amber of his eyes shifted into a fiery red. Drizzt's death had not been enough to satisfy his thirst for revenge.

"Did you mean what you said to the renegade before he died?" Gromph asked, his voice deprived of jealousy or any other emotion; only a hint of cruel amusement was visible in his eyes. He sank casually on a cushioned chair, perfectly at ease - there was nothing in Mithral Hall that could threaten him, least of all this weak girl they were waiting for. Dantrag shrugged and began to examine the other items on the table, softly lifting the beautiful longbow.

"No, of course not; I don't want her. Honestly, how could any sane drow desire such a clumsy creature? But I will not leave her alone - she may be of use to me. As far as I know, our sister Qirva has a weakness for human females as slaves ... Such a beautiful gift might facilitate my return to the Academy."

Gromph arched an eyebrow, obviously surprised. They had never spoken about Dantrag's future, but Gromph had presumed that his brother wanted his old position back. But Qirva was Mistress at Arach-Tinilith, and even though Triel was officially Head Mistress, Qirva had taken on many of her tasks because Triel had to focus on House Baenre.

"Qirva? So you do not wish to be again Weapon Master of House Baenre?"

"Head Master of Melee-Magthere grants me equal power and more freedom. I suppose that Triel is quite content with Andzrel as her Weapon Master - he is capable, and more obedient than I am," Dantrag explained, leaning against the table. "And if Qirva pleads for me - and she will - why should Triel oppose? She will be glad to have me at the Academy, at least for some time. All the more as it will strengthen her standing among the other Matrons if she puts a Baenre at the top of Melee-Magthere."

Gromph nodded after a short pause - it was a simple idea, but it could work. Qirva probably did not care about Dantrag's position and was easily corrupted, so why should she and Triel oppose Dantrag's wish? Especially as the current Head Master he would replace was a Del'Armgo, one of Uthegental's sons. Gromph started to say something, but he held his tongue when he saw Dantrag tensing.

_Someone's coming_, he signed. A split second later, Gromph heard the steps on the floor as well - the long paces of a human, not a dwarf - and he readied a spell while Dantrag moved to the door. As soon as it opened, the fighter grabbed the woman's arm and yanked her in the room, putting one hand on her mouth and slamming the door shut with his foot. Gromph cast a spell that would shield the room acoustically - he did not want anyone to hear the woman call for help.

Catti-Brie - that was her name, if he remembered correctly - struggled, shock and fear in her eyes. She screamed when Dantrag pushed her to the ground, and tried immediately to get back on her feet.

She froze in place when she recognised the two drow in her room: one who should be dead, and the other who could kill her with a thought. Catti-Brie had never seen the Archmage, but she had been with Entreri when the assassin had assumed Gromph's form to enter his office. Her eyes widened even more when she saw the mithral bracers on Dantrag's wrists, but she swallowed hard and said, "Ye're foolish to come here! There're hundreds o' dwarves around, they'll hear ye sooner or later -"

She tried to sound firm and strong, but her trembling voice and the tears on her cheeks betrayed her. Gromph chuckled and stared at the woman, his cold gaze making it clear that anyone who would try to help her would die.

"What do ye want, then?" she stammered, backing off to bring as much ground as possible between herself and the drow. She understood that Dantrag wanted his sword back - and somehow she knew that the strange blade with the demonic hilt _was_ Khazid'hea - but what about her? And where was Drizzt?

Her unspoken question was answered when Dantrag crouched beside her and produced a locket out off a pocket in his piwafwi to dangle it before her eyes: a white unicorn head, the symbol of Mielikki. A gift Regis had once given to Drizzt, back in Icewind Dale.

Catti-Brie cried out and tore the locket from Dantrag's hands, then sobbed when the drow slapped her in the face and split her bottom lip.

"What did ye do to him?" she sobbed, desperate and confused by the drow's silence.

"What do you think? I fought him, beat him, cut him open and let him drown in his own blood," Dantrag finally replied, his common faultless, but heavily accented.

Normally, he would have described Drizzt's death in detail, but he lacked the right vocabulary in the unfamiliar tongue. "And you, _ssindossa_, will help me. Drizzt's death for my Matron, your life for my future Head Mistress. You can be glad, I won't kill you."

Dantrag laughed and shared a brief look with his brother - what awaited Catti-Brie was far more cruel than death.

"I won't help ye in any way!" the young woman snapped, her eyes and her voice defiant despite her sobs. Dantrag softly touched her cheek - this tender gesture from the hands that had killed Drizzt nearly made her choke.

"Go on, struggle. My sister likes to break her slaves herself, and she will take great pleasure in your defiance," he chuckled and rose. He looked again to Gromph and nodded, smiling when the Archmage began to chant. Catti-Brie tried desperately to keep her eyes open, but sleep claimed her within seconds.

_ssindossa: whore_


	8. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

Dantrag glanced at the pile of paper on his desk and a tired sigh escaped his lips. He had spent the whole morning reading, sorting through the lists of students and teachers, getting a general idea of the current situation at Melee-Magthere - who had too much power, who could become dangerous, who was a potential ally. Dantrag hated paperwork, but it didn't bother him so much today. He was too satisfied with his position to be annoyed by his duties.

Leaning back in his cushioned chair, he looked around in the big, luxurious office, an office that had already been his once, more than a century ago. The office of the Head Master of Melee-Magthere, situated on one of the highest levels of the pyramid.

A mere week had passed since his glorious fight against Drizzt Do'Urden, but Dantrag was already reinserted in the Menzoberranyr everyday life. Gromph had performed admirably. First, he had talked to Triel - it had taken hours, and Dantrag had already got nervous, waiting in the Archmage's quarters. But Gromph's persuasiveness had finally managed to calm Triel, despite the fact that the Weapon Master had been resurrected by a heretic. Gromph hadn't told her the truth, of course, but claimed that some priest of Selvetarm had resurrected Dantrag on his own accord and brought him to Gromph afterwards. The brothers weren't sure if Triel had believed this, but she had accepted it, once Gromph had convinced her that this priest hadn't been from Menzoberranzan, and that neither he nor Dantrag were even remotely associated with the Spider Demon's followers.

In fact, Triel had seemed quite pleased with the news of her brother's return. She almost liked the brash, confident Weapon Master - as long as he bowed to her - and Drizzt Do'Urden's corpse had once again shown her the great value of this fighter. The renegade couldn't be counted as a sacrifice to Lolth, as he hadn't been killed by a priestess, but Triel was sure the Spider Queen appreciated that a Baenre had brought down this traitor. Yes, Drizzt's death had been a main reason for Triel to welcome her brother back without asking too many questions, even though she scolded Gromph for not informing her earlier.

Dantrag was convinced that his eldest sister would keep an eye on him for some time, but he was also sure that his position in House Baenre wasn't endangered. Triel had accepted him back, her sisters would have to follow her, Berg'inyon had deserted, and Andzrel immediately showed his cousin and former teacher the due respect. The new Weapon Master knew that he was no match for Dantrag, and he quickly offered to resign from his position.

But again, Gromph had made sure that everything went smooth. He had given this human, Catti-Brie, to their sister Qirva - with best regards from Dantrag - and the Mistress of Arach-Tinilith had been the one to suggest that it might be more prudent to put Dantrag at the head of Melee-Magthere. After all, House Baenre had only one Master at the school of fighters at this time, an unheard-of low.

Hearing the same suggestion from Gromph, Triel had probably suspected that her clever brother had manipulated Qirva, but as their arguments made perfectly sense, the Matron Mother had accepted this, too. Mez'Barris Del'Armgo had been clever enough to order her son and current Head Master back to her House, knowing that he wouldn't stand a chance against Dantrag if the Baenre had to fight for his position. This humiliation of her most dangerous rival had pleased Triel quite a bit, and she silently congratulated Gromph for reaching his goals so easily. If Gromph weren't so undeniably useful and loyal to her House, she really would have to worry about this intelligent, powerful male.

And thus, thanks to his brother's diplomatic skill - and to his own fighting prowess and ideas, of course - Dantrag sat once again behind this table, stronger and healthier than ever before, wallowing in the luxury and power of his position, enjoying the respectful looks from his fellow masters, his students and even the high priestesses, smiling when the gossip about his fight against Drizzt reached his ears. Yes, he was back in his old glory, or rather: his glory was greater than ever before. Uthegental Del'Armgo, Zaknafein and Drizzt Do'Urden were dead, and with the death of the last one at Dantrag's hands, doubts about the Baenre's claim to be the greatest Weapon Master Menzoberranzan had seen in centuries had finally vanished.

_You need new challenges_, he suddenly heard a whisper in his mind.

_Oh, Khazid'hea, shut up! Give me a break to enjoy what I have achieved_, he thought with a sigh, but he touched the hilt of his sentient sword almost tenderly. As absurd as it seemed, but Cutter was actually jealous because Dantrag had killed his greatest rival with another sword. The Weapon Master wondered if it was normal that his sword was more jealous than his lover.

Dantrag chuckled and returned his attention to the lists on his desk - he wanted to get this done today and focus on more interesting things from tomorrow on. But his work was interrupted several minutes later by a knock on the door.

He sighed and called the visitor in, supposing that it was just a novice who brought him a message from another master - most of them had been quick to welcome their new superior, remembering Dantrag's volatile temper and his often violent reactions to even small slips. It wasn't a good idea to have him as an enemy, even less as the whole Academy was firmly in the grip of House Baenre.

But this time it wasn't a novice who stepped in, but Gromph himself. Dantrag looked up in surprise, and the hint of a smile made it to his face at the sight of his still so youthful, handsome brother. The Archmage closed the door behind him and went over to the Weapon Master, who rose immediately and pulled Gromph in his arms.

They looked at each other for a long time, Gromph leaning in the fighter's strong arms, softly stroking his cheek.

"Thank you," Dantrag finally managed to whisper. His voice was low and merely audible, and Gromph knew that it had cost his proud brother quite an effort to speak those words at all - which made them only more precious. The Archmage found himself smiling unintentionally, and he nodded seriously to show Dantrag that he knew the value of those simple words. He kissed his brother tenderly before he stepped back.

"How are you?" Gromph suddenly asked, and Dantrag stared at him in utter surprise.

"What? Why are you asking that? I'm fine, I've never felt this good!" he answered with a laugh, but he eyed Gromph suspiciously.

"No thirst of revenge anymore?"

Dantrag furrowed his brow even deeper. "No. Drizzt Do'Urden is dead, his human will spend the rest of her life in the hands of a most sadistic priestess, and I am more powerful than ever before. Everything is just as it should be."

"Good. I asked because I met with Jarlaxle today. It appears that Berg'inyon is quite worried about your return, and Jarlaxle doesn't want to lose one of his precious lieutenants," Gromph explained, but his derisive tone showed clearly that he didn't think very highly of Jarlaxle - of course, the Archmage knew the mercenary's value, and to be honest, he respected his cleverness, but he couldn't stand Jarlaxle's cockiness and extravagance.

Dantrag didn't answer immediately, but his amber eyes shifted to a dark red when Gromph mentioned Berg'inyon - the one who had abandoned him in his first fight with Drizzt Do'Urden. The Weapon Master turned around and stared out of the window, apparently fighting an internal struggle, and several minutes passed in silence until he answered.

"It was careless to count on Berg'inyon in this situation; I should have thought of the possibility that he would abandon me, or even attack me. But now I have more important things to concentrate on than our stupid little brother, and as long as he stays in the Clawrift and doesn't get in my sight, I won't waste my time on him. Listening to Jarlaxle's babble every day is probably a bigger punishment than dying quickly under my blades," Dantrag said calmly, but Gromph could hear a hint of amusement in his voice.

The Archmage was relieved that his brother wasn't completely blinded by his desire for revenge anymore. The Weapon Master needed to move on. Drizzt Do'Urden was the past now, and it was time for Dantrag to return to his normal life. Gromph wondered if his stubborn brother had learnt anything from those events, and if he had, _what_ it was. But they could talk about that another day - Dantrag himself had probably not yet figured out what conclusions he should draw from the last months.

"I'm glad to hear that," Gromph said. "Now, I have some last year students to teach, and you have paperwork to do. I suggest you come to my quarters in the evening, if you like."

Dantrag turned his head and grinned at Gromph, whispering softly, "Have I ever rejected such a seductive offer from your lips?"

"No, you've always shown a complete lack of discipline in this matter," the Archmage replied dryly and went to the door. Dantrag watched him leave, but he suddenly caught sight of something strange on his desk. He let his eyes shift into normal vision to identify the objects, wondering how they had got there.

"Gromph?" he asked in confusion, beckoning him to come back. The Archmage stopped and walked to Dantrag's desk, furrowing his brow when he saw his brother's confused expression. He followed Dantrag's gaze, and his own eyes widened in shock.

On top of the papers lay several stones and pieces of dried bark. The Weapon Master didn't seem to know what this meant, but the widely read mage knew: Selvetarm used these signs to show his favour, and as the god was rather reluctant to demonstrate his approval so openly, they were always a mark of the Spider Demon's genuine interest.

So much for his assurance to Triel that Dantrag himself had no business at all with Selvetarm and his followers. Gromph stared at his brother and felt suddenly very uncomfortable.

* * *

A/N: Thank you for reading and reviewing! Reviews on the Epilogue and the story as a whole would be, as always, greatly appreciated. As this ending indicates, I plan to write a sequel, and I have also some ideas for a prequel. I don't know yet which one I'm going to write first, but please let me know if you'd be interested in reading more about Gromph and Dantrag, if there are questions you would like to see answered in a prequel or sequel, or any other suggestions. :-) 


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